Matt's iridescent, silver shirt was unbuttoned about halfway revealing his glistening, chiseled chest. With a casual flip of his wrist, he tucked his long, brown hair neatly behind his ear. Even from half way across the crowded bar I could clearly see his deep blue eyes and his perfectly formed lips.
He playfully bounced from the stage into a sea of beautiful young women, all vying for the attention of the lead singer. As though holding a number at the deli counter, I waited my turn. I nervously fidgeted with my hair. It was teased to the ideal height of about two inches so that my hair-sprayed, blonde curls would cascade perfectly around my heavily made up face. Thick mascara coated my eyelashes. Fire-engine red lipstick covered my trembling lips. My inexperienced hands had painted and crimped in a failed attempt to disguise my naive, juvenile appearance. At long last, Matt made his way through the crowd to me.
"Thanks for coming out. Great set, don't you think?" he said gleefully. Before I had a chance to respond, he was gone. I watched, dumbfounded, as he moved on to the next group of girls, flashing his million-dollar smile to whichever lucky lady caught his wandering eye. My mind raced, I wasn't just another one of his groupies, I was supposed to be his God-damned girlfriend.
Adolescent jealousy and too many Budweisers churned together in my stomach. I thought that I was going to be sick. All alone in the crowded bar, I watched as Matt flirted with a voluptuous, scantily clad blonde at the bar. I couldn't watch any more.
By the light of the flickering red neon beer sign, I started pushing my way through the crowd of chatty young college kids, toward the door. With every step,